Mala Suledin Nadas
by lucielchoi
Summary: Mahanon was never meant to be someone of power and importance. He was just a hunter from clan Lavellan, just a mentally ill 19 year old who couldn't lead a team if his life depended on it. Then, he was thrust into a position of power, forced to be the one everyone looked up to and respected - and he hated every second of it. dorian/lavellan
1. Chapter 1

Mahanon was never meant to be someone of power and importance. He was just a hunter from clan Lavellan, just a mentally ill 19 year old who couldn't lead a team if his life depended on it.

Then, he was thrust into a position of power, forced to be the one everyone looked up to - and he hated every second of it.

* * *

Mahanon couldn't help but stare incredulously when Cassandra left that first decision to either take the mountain path or charge with soldiers. He was their prisoner! Why should he have to make this decision? Cassandra had barely even trusted him to hold a knife - why was she trusting him with this?

When he voiced as much, Solas intervened, "You have the mark."

"You are the one we must keep alive," Cassandra said, and Mahanon knew she hated admitting it. What did _that_ matter? All they needed was the fucking mark, they didn't need him! And why did that suddenly mean that such an important decision was resting on _his_ shoulders now?

"Um," Mahanon began to tremble slightly, hopefully not enough for anyone to see, his heart began to beat wildly, "Um, lets- ah, take the mountain path?"

As it turned out, the mountain path fucking sucked. It was crawling with demons, and they had found a group of dead scouts on the mountain. Fucking great. Mahanon wasn't sure which decision would have been worse. He knew, rationally, that each choice would have lead to demons anyway, but he couldn't help but feel bitter that all of the casualties this choice caused would be pinned on him. 'He _made the decision, it's_ his _fault'_ -

"The temple of sacred ashes," Solas said, snapping Mahanon out of his thoughts. Mahanon glanced over at the bald man to find his eyes already on him. He quickly looked away.

"What's left of it," Varric scoffed.

The temple was covered in burning bodies, their stench making Mahanon gag. He covered his nose with his shirt. The rest of the party made similar faces of disgust as they walked through the crumbling ruin.

Cassandra's friend, whose name eluded Mahanon, ran up and began speaking with Cassandra. Probably just some _shem_ shit. Mahanon toned the voices out, instead focusing on the huge rift in the sky. He swallowed dryly, his heart rate speeding up. Shit, he really didn't want to do this. He just wanted to go home. The homesickness hit him so hard and so fast that he had to blink away tears.

"This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?" Cassandra's voice made him jump and turn. She was facing him steadily, her face grave.

"Do I have a choice?" He laughed weakly.

Cassandra scowled and Mahanon looked away, focusing again on the fade rift. It was... well, it was high. Big and looming, flickering every few seconds. He felt his palm pulse in unison with the ominous green light.

"Let's just get this over with," he mumbled under his breath, although he was pretty sure they all heard him.

They traveled quickly down the slope to the rift, where immediately a huge fucking demon appeared. Mahanon felt sweat beading on his forehead, pricking at his underarms. With shaking hands, he reached for his daggers.

The fight was brutal. To beat the demon, he had to stand in one place for a few precious seconds to disrupt the rift, or so Solas told him (in a rather condescending voice). It wasn't that he didn't trust these people to protect him, they seemed perfectly capable, but...

It was still terrifying, relying on people who just hours earlier had held him prisoner and threatened him. As the rift was disrupted, the demon fell on it's knees. Rather than attack the big, scary ass demon, Mahanon focused on the smaller, yet equally terrifying demons. Leave the big one to Cassandra. He darted between demons, stabbing them in their weird backs and moving away just as quickly. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he finished off demon after demon, although he never went close to the big scary one. He was a rogue, for the Creators' sake, he knew his place on the battlefield. It was _not_ fighting some bigass pride demon.

Finally, the big demon went down, rumbling and making the ground quake beneath it. Cassandra and Varric ran to get out from where it was falling.

"Now!" Cassandra shouted, looking to where Mahanon stood, gesturing wildly, "Seal the rift!"

Mahanon thrust his hand forward, feeling searing pain as it did _something_ to the rift.

And then, nothing.

* * *

Mahanon startled awake, sitting up, but immediately falling back, feeling his body ache. He glanced down to his hand, hoping this was all some wild dream he could laugh about with his sister.

Nope. The mark, damn that thing, was still shining bright on his hand, still pulsing a steady rhythm on his palm. He let out a string of elven curses before getting up, despite his body's protests.

He looked around, beginning to feel panic rising in his chest. Where was he? A cabin, he thought. A cabin where?

He jumped as a small elvhen girl opened the door and strolled inside. She seemed equally startled to see him, if not more so.

"Oh! I didn't know you were awake, i swear!" she squeaked. Mahanon regarded her nervously.

"Its... fine?" he answered, unsure what to do or who this girl was.

To Mahanon's surprise and discomfort, the girl fell to her knees before him. His eyes widened, and he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"They say you saved us," the girl said, still kneeling, "You're in Haven. They brought you back here, after you sealed the breach. It's all anyone would talk about for three days!"

So it had been three days. He didn't know where or what Haven was, though. He wished this girl would get up, or at least stop kneeling. She was making him extremely uncomfortable.

"Okay," Mahanon said awkwardly, "Can you please stand up now?"

The girl immediately shot up, looking apologetic, and said a quick, "Lady Cassandra will want to see you now! She's in the Chantry!"

The girl scurried off without another word. Mahanon rubbed his neck and exited the cabin, startled to see so many people waiting outside. As soon as he stepped out, all pairs of eyes were on him. He tensed up and swiftly began to walk towards what he was assuming was the Chantry.

He became increasingly uncomfortable as the number of stares and whispers increased. He noticed Varric, standing by a fire, chest hair out, and regarding him with warm eyes and a smile. He gave a small nod in Varric's direction before quickly reaching the heavy Chantry doors and pushing them open, with some effort. He felt safer inside, less exposed than he did outside. There were less people in here. Although, a few priestesses(?) were still staring at him as he passed. At least the whispers were done.

He slowed his walk, standing outside a door with people shouting behind it. Loud voices, one belonging to Cassandra, the other to an unknown man. He leaned against the door, listening in. He didn't quite want to go in just yet.

However, as it quickly became apparent that they were talking about him, Mahanon sighed, and opened the door.

a/n: Tell me what you think! I'm moving this here from my AO3 account and I'm more likely to update there than on here but I'll do my best!


	2. Chapter 2

Mahanon let out a huff of frustration as he left the Chantry. It was becoming very clear that these _shemlen_ weren't going to let him go home any time soon. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids, feeling a headache coming on. He could feel the mark on his hand vibrate in close proximity.

Not only was he not allowed to go home, but now he was some sort of religious symbol? He didn't even believe in Andraste or the Maker! He wasn't fit to lead some sort of religious movement! He growled down at his palm. It was all because of this fucking mark. He was almost tempted to go get a knife and cut his own damn hand off and throw it at Cassandra.

He scratched at the mark as he began walking, unsure where he was going but he was damn sure he didn't want to be near Cassandra.

He ended up standing in front of Varric, the dwarf smiling up at him. The fire was so warm, way warmer than the rest of this cold shithole, so Mahanon stood as close to the fire as he could.

"Well if it isn't the Herald himself," Varric laughed. Mahanon scowled.

"Isn't that ridiculous?" Mahanon found himself saying, "An elf, the Herald of some _shem_ god?"

Varric laughed, and Mahanon felt himself relaxing. Varric seemed like someone Mahanon could be comfortable with. There were few people Mahanon could be comfortable near. Out of everyone he had met so far, Varric was the only one he felt he could trust. He didn't mind Josephine, she had actually been quite pleasant. Cullen was intimidating, as was Cassandra. Leliana was terrifying. Solas was mysterious and condescending, and he had a strange aura about him.

Yep, Varric it was.

"Are you holding up alright?" Varric asked suddenly as Mahanon made himself comfortable by the fire, "I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would spread that out over more than one day."

Mahanon didn't know why, but he wanted to tell Varric everything. _No, I'm not alright, I don't even believe in shem Gods, I want to go back to my clan, I can't lead an entire army-_

"This is a load of bullshit," Mahanon finally said, deciding to trust Varric with his real feelings. If he was going to be stuck with these people, he needed to have at least one person he could trust. It definitely wasn't going to be Cassandra.

"You don't know the half of it," Varric agreed. He crossed his arms and looked up at the Breach, huge and green and menacing. Mahanon decided he hated the color green.

"For days now, we've been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. 'Bad for morale' would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived," Varric continued, still staring at the Breach. He had a sad, tired look in his eye that made Mahanon wonder why exactly Varric was still here. He was in the same boat Mahanon was in, right? But he was allowed to leave. Why hadn't he?

"Why are you still here?" Mahanon blurted out.

"You wound me!" Varric laughed, looking away from the Breach to meet Mahanon's eyes.

"You know what I meant," Mahanon huffed, ducking his head a little.

"I... thousands of people died," Varric began, "I was almost one of them. And now there's a hole in the sky shitting out demons. Even I can't walk away and just leave that to sort itself out."

Mahanon was surprised Varric was being so honest with him. He nodded once, unsure of what to say. He had never been good with words. He had only just recently been able to talk to strangers without trembling all over.

"I..." Mahanon started awkwardly, shifting, "I guess I was fortunate. That I lived."

"You might want to consider running at the first opportunity," Varric said.

"Like I haven't," mumbled Mahanon.

"I've written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that. But the hole in the sky? That's beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Mahanon said sarcastically as he got up. Varric grinned.

"My pleasure," The dwarf called as Mahanon trailed away.

Mahanon avoided speaking to Cassandra or Solas for the rest of the day. He was going to be forced to be with them in the Hinterlands, he might as well avoid them now. Plus, he wasn't really in the mood for talking.

Instead, in the time he had before their trip to the Hinterlands, he explored. First he explored the Chantry, exchanging polite pleasantries with Josephine when he accidentally stumbled upon her... office? He left quickly, deciding to explore the rest of Haven.

He didn't like the tavern. Too loud, too many people. He stayed away from where Solas was standing, staring at the Breach. It was as if there was no place in Haven Mahanon could be alone. Outside of the gate, he found Cassandra training. He stayed away from that. Eventually, he settled on climbing a tree near the frozen lake, staring out at the scenery and the Breach for the rest of the day, in blissful peace.

Mahanon grumbled as he and his team reached the Hinterlands. He was expected to lead them in battle, and guide them around this place he didn't know anything about. He decided first to talk to Mother Giselle, who was supposed to be in the little village he could see from their little camp.

And, of course, they were ambushed. Mahanon immediately went into stealth mode as Varric moved out of range. He ran to the smaller guys, the archers and other rogues, and took them out while everyone else in the party dealt with the warriors. It might not have been the best plan, but he never was good at any of this.

As soon as they killed all the bad guys, Mahanon immediately checked their bodies for loot. Cassandra crossed her arms and huffed in annoyance, but Mahanon ignored her.

Mahanon also ignored most of the conversation with Mother Giselle, save for the important bits. He remained polite, but he really didn't want to go to Val Royeaux. Everything Orlesian seemed too... uptight for him.

As they began running around the Hinterlands, doing odd quests for whoever, Mahanon considered again and again just knocking his team members out and making a break for it. 'Herald of Andraste' my ass, he thought. However, he knew even if he tried soldiers would probably drag him back, kicking and screaming the whole way. So, for now, he played along, running around the Hinterlands blindly for a week.

"I want to ally with the mages," Mahanon said, his advisors in a circle around him. Val Royeaux had been a fucking mess, ending up in Mahanon too scared of Lord Seeker Lucius to even speak to the man, leaving Cassandra to do most of the talking.

"What?" Cullen asked incredulously, "Why would you-"

"The mages may be more united," Mahanon said in a rush, glancing at Josephine in a desperate plea for help.

"He's right," Josephine agreed. In all honesty, the templars just seemed too violent, too scary for someone like Mahanon to work with.

"You think the mages are more united? It could be ten times worse," Cullen challenged, narrowing his eyes.

"Look," Mahanon held up his hands, his eyes pleading, "I know what you want, Cullen. But that's my decision."

Before anyone could protest, Mahanon ran away. He stopped outside the Chantry as a man spoke to him. He only halfway listened, too anxious to do anything else, agreeing just so he could get the man to stop talking. Something about a mercenary group? The Storm Coast? Better than hanging out here.

He had so much resting on his shoulders, so much riding on him being able to do these things. He almost screwed up getting Sera to join their little army, and now he had to get what, two more people to join? It was just too much.

If he thought about it, Sera was the only one even close to him in age, everyone else being three or four years older, if not more. How could people so much older and more experienced than him leave so much riding on his shoulders?

He walked swiftly out to the frozen lake, where again there was no one. He let out a breath and relaxed, scratching at his mark. He really hated that thing. He had considered again and again trying to cut it off somehow, gouge it out or something. He scratched harder.

"Hey, kid," a voice made him jump nearly out of his skin, turning swiftly, only to relax as he met Varric's eyes.

"Oh, shit, it's just you," Mahanon breathed, holding a hand to his chest.

"Yep, just me," the dwarf said, holding up his hands, "I know I already asked this, but... are you doing okay?"

"What do you think?" Mahanon answered with a tired smile, leaning against a nearby tree. He scratched at the mark.

"Hey," Varric's eyes widened in alarm, "Shit kid, stop that!"

Mahanon blinked and looked down at his hand. He had scratched so hard his hand was bleeding, but the mark still shone true. Mahanon pressed his lips together and forced himself to stop scratching.

"What, is it itchy or something?" Varric asked, crossing his arms. Varric's expression was concerned, tired. Mahanon wavered for a moment before answering,

"Yeah."

***  
As Mahanon's party reached Redcliffe, (Iron Bull, Varric, and Solas), of course something immediately went wrong.

The rift was... _wrong_ , somehow. There were times when Mahanon could barely get his body to move. It was like time had slowed down in those specific areas. Solas had his eyes narrowed as he watched, never actually getting close enough to go through one of the anomalies himself.

"What was that?" Mahanon asked as he threw his hand up, grimacing when the rift closed. It always felt like a fresh wound was ripping open in his palm.

"I'm not sure," Solas answered, as if the question was directed at him (it wasn't), "We'd better get moving."

Mahanon rolled his eyes and walked into Redcliffe. If only he had another mage he could take along with him instead of Solas, who made Mahanon more nervous than he'd like to admit. He had worked past most of his difficulties speaking with strangers, but he was a bit too afraid of messing up around Solas.

When they reached the tavern, Mahanon took a moment to prepare himself. He may have gotten past his fear of speaking to others, but this? This was a whole other level. He wasn't just talking to someone like Varric or Sera. He was talking to someone important, someone who had power. Power than Mahanon needed, apparently.

"You must be mistaken," Fiona sounded sincere, "I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

"Really," Mahanon quirked an eyebrow, "Then who did I meet at Val Royeaux?"

"I..." Fiona frowned, "I know not. I do admit I feel rather strange. However, I cannot help you. The mages have pledged themselves to the Tevinter Imperium; As one indentured to the Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

Mahanon rubbed his eyelids. Nothing would ever go his way, would it? He considered again just making a break for it and hoping they didn't catch him.

"Then who does?" Mahanon asked, exasperated. He really, really just wanted to go back to his clan.

The door slammed open, an important looking man walking through. This must be their leader, Mahanon thought idly. As it turned out, he was. Mahanon began negotiations with him, although he didn't know whether he was doing it right or not. It wasn't as if he had any experience with this kind of thing. Not long into the negotiations a man fell right on top of him.

Mahanon's eyes widened as he grunted under the man's weight, barely able to remain standing. The man suddenly fixed him with a look that made Mahanon still as the sick man slipped a piece of paper into Mahanon's hands.

Mahanon stayed quiet as the Magister fretted over his son, and only nodded when he suggested they speak another day. Once he was sure they were gone, he looked at the note.

"Come to the Chantry, you're in danger," Mahanon read out loud to his party.

"Should we go, boss?" Iron Bull asked, "Could be a trap."

"I guess we should," Mahanon frowned down at the note and stuffed it into his pockets. He wasn't sure if it was a trap or not, and didn't want to be responsible if it was, but he knew he would regret it if there was something important in the Chantry and he missed it. His eyes flicked to Varric for approval, satisfied when Varric didn't seem to disapprove.

They entered the Chantry, surprised by what they saw there. A man was standing by a rift, hitting demons with his staff. Weren't mages supposed to use magic, not blunt force?

"Good, you're here!" the man said, making Mahanon focus on him, "Help me take care of these things, would you?"

Mahanon and his party immediately sprang into action. This rift was the same as the one outside Redcliffe, with it's magic that slowed them down. With the extra mage, the demons were taken out quicker than they had been before. Mahanon closed the rift, wincing as he did so.

"Fascinating!" The man was suddenly closer, trying to examine Mahanon's hand, making Mahanon step back, "How does that work, exactly?"

Mahanon stared dumbly. He didn't know! That was Solas's job, knowing things. All he did was-

"You have no idea, do you?" the man asked, shaking his head slightly, "You just wiggle your fingers and poof! Rift gone."

Mahanon's heart stuttered in his chest. He tried to remain impassive, but he was shaken. This man knew. This man knew he didn't know what he was doing. The only other person who knew that was Varric. Mahanon could feel himself shaking. The man's eyes were knowing, staring straight through him, seeing nothing but a disappointment who was just faking his way through all this.

And he was right.


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian knew Lavellan was skittish around him, although he couldn't fathom why. He was charming and witty and handsome. What could possible scare the Herald of Andraste? Certainly not someone like Dorian. Sure, Lavellan was skittish around most people, but why was Dorian among them?

As things were now, Lavellan seemed scared out of his wits. Being thrown into a darker alternate future will do that. Lavellan tried to hide it, but Dorian could tell he was scared. His hands were shaking and his breath was coming out ragged, too quick to be normal. Or maybe elves just breathed faster than humans?

It wasn't that Dorian wasn't scared. He was, of course. You'd have to be mad not to be. But, Dorian was confident that if they just found the amulet, he could get them back safe and sound and none of this would happen. So he remained calm, not only for his sake, but the Herald's too.

"I'm here, you know," Dorian blurted. He didn't know why he was saying this. "I'll protect you."

Lavellan stared at him like he had grown a second head. Dorian almost winced at his own words, but something stopped him. The tips of Lavellan's ears were red, and he stopped shaking. Lavellan nodded without meeting Dorian's eyes and began walking forward. It was almost cute.

"Andraste blessed me, Andraste blessed me," A voice came from behind him, making him shiver. That was creepy. He turned around to find Lavellan staring intently at a man behind bars. The man's gaze was unfocused as he swayed from side to side.

"My tears are my sins, my sins..." The man droned on, and Lavellan's eyes widened in recognition.

"I know you!" Lavellan said, more to himself than anyone.

"Andraste guide me, Andraste guide me..." the man continued, not noticing Lavellan at all. Lavellan blinked and looked to Dorian, eyes uncertain.

"Come on," Dorian gestured with his hands, "We have to move on."

Lavellan looked back at the singing man before nodding and following Dorian.

The first one they found was Iron Bull, singing some ghastly song. Dorian tried to focus on what he was saying, but was distracted by Lavellan. He was shaken by Iron Bull's appearance, his reddish glow as a result of the lyrium. If he squinted, he could have sworn he saw tears in the younger man's eyes.

 _It's not your fault_ , he wanted to say, but his lips remained shut.

They found Varric next, and Lavellan was even more upset than he had been with Bull. This time, Lavellan actually had to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill. Dorian felt compelled to say something, anything, but Varric beat him to it. Varric excused himself for a moment with Lavellan. As they talked, Lavellan visibly calming down. Dorian couldn't hear what Varric said, though he could guess.

"Let's keep moving," Lavellan's voice was surprisingly steady as he came back, Varric looking satisfied.

The woman, Fiona, didn't affect Lavellan at all. His attitude had changed considerably since finding Varric. Lavellan questioned her sympathetically, but with authority. Dorian was shocked by the change. Just before, the elf had been on the verge of tears, and now he was acting diplomatic.

Dorian hated the feeling of the energy thrumming through the castle. It was impossible to ignore. The lyrium was strong, as was the heavy feeling of magic all over. He was beginning to get a headache. Plus, the reddish hue cast all over the castle wasn't helping.

Finally they found and rescued Leliana. She looked terrible, aged past what she should have. Dorian felt bad for her, but kept in mind that this wouldn't happen as long as he could get the amulet.

When Leliana called him out on that, he couldn't help but feel some resentment towards the woman. He would try not to hold it against her when they got back. If Dorian was anything, he was forgiving.

When they reached the chamber with Alexius, the energy thrumming through him worsened.

"Why..." Lavellan began, seemingly at a loss for words, "Why would you do this? For what reason?"

"For my country, for my son," Alexius answered, his voice somber, "But it means nothing now."

"Was it worth it?" Dorian fought to keep the anger from his voice, "Everything you did to the world, to yourself?"

"It doesn't matter now," Alexius answered, "All we can do now is wait for the end."

"The end?" Lavellan cocked his head to the side. Dorian could hear his voice wavering.

"The elder one comes. For me, for you, for us all," Alexius continued.

At some point, Leliana must have moved, because now she was standing right behind the man who had been sitting beside Alexius, a knife to his throat.

"Felix!" Alexius cried. Dorian did a double take, feeling anger welling up inside himself.

" _That's_ Felix?" Dorian asked incredulously, "Maker's breath, what have you done!"

"He would have died, Dorian!" Alexius cried, "I saved him! Please, don't hurt my son, I'll do anything you ask..."

Dorian looked to Lavellan, whose eyes were wide. He looked back at Dorian, looking apologetic and sad. Lavellan pressed his lips together.

"Hand over the amulet and we'll let him go," Lavellan finally said, no longer meeting Dorian's gaze.

Despite what Lavellan said, Leliana killed Felix anyway. Dorian wasn't sure how to feel. Should he be happy Felix wasn't like that anymore, or sad that he was gone? He knew this wouldn't happen once he got the amulet back, but...

Alexius attacked. Dorian fought, fueled by his rage at Alexius for what he had done to Felix. This was not what Felix wanted. That was not Felix.

When it was time to go back, Dorian was surprised at how Lavellan reacted to Leliana's decision to sacrifice herself. He had been shaking when he was Varric and Iron Bull's bodies hit the floor, but grabbed onto Dorian's coat, staring at Leliana as she loosed arrows. His grip on Dorian tightened as Leliana was surrounded, but he turned, closed his eyes, and jumped anyway.

That was something Mahanon was not eager to experience again.

He kept looking over at his companions in the aftermath, making sure they were alive. He wasn't scared of Dorian anymore, of what the man knew about him. Without Dorian, Mahanon would probably be dead.

As expected, when he got back, he was yelled at by Cullen for siding with mages. He tuned it out.

Leaving the Chantry after getting yelled at, he felt relief for the first time since they had left. Now he was alone, in the loosest use of the word. Alone theoretically. No more people hounding him for a report, no more people yelling at him for allying with the mages. Now he could take a break before being dragged off to seal the breach.

He sat down in a mostly deserted area of Haven, not having the energy to make the trek out to the lake. He rubbed the mark, scabs still left behind from his scratching. He picked at them absently, trying to get the image of his companion's dead bodies out of his head.

"Lavellan," a voice came from above him. He looked up to find Solas peering down at him, a look of disgust on his face at what Mahanon had been doing.

"Solas," Mahanon stopped picking at his scabs, feeling shame heat up his face. Only children picked at scabs, Mahanon berated himself.

"Varric tells me your mark is... itchy?" Solas cocked his head to the side, still as condescending as ever.

"Um," Mahanon scrambled to come up with a viable excuse, "It was itchy, but now I'm used to it, I think."

"Hm," Solas sounded unconvinced. He crossed his arms and stared down at the younger elf, his gaze observant.

"Yeah, so," Mahanon couldn't meet Solas's eyes, instead messing with his fingers, "You don't have to worry, or anything. You can leave."

Solas made a noncommittal noise and left. Mahanon scratched at his mark again. In a few days he would have to seal the breach, and then hopefully he would be allowed to go home. He could always hope.

As it turned out, sealing the breach wasn't nearly as hard as he thought.

Painful, yes. Very painful. Like his hand was trying to tear itself into two. Mahanon felt the pain spike up his arm, nearly passing out.

Now everyone was celebrating. Mahanon's head was pounding. He felt sick after sealing the Breach. Wasn't he supposed to feel better?

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm. The breach is sealed," Cassandra said form behind him. Great.

"...Word of your heroism has spread," Cassandra said. Mahanon blinked for a moment. He had been spacing out, partially because of his damned headache, but also because he just didn't like Cassandra.

"What have I done? It was all this stupid mark," Mahanon remarked bitterly, not meeting Cassandra's eyes.

Cassandra seemed genuinely surprised, opening her mouth to reply, but before she could, Cullen's voice cut her off.

"Forces approaching!" He yelled, "To arms!"

Mahanon felt his stomach drop as he watched Cassandra's eyes widen. What terrible timing, he thought, as bells began ringing. His headache throbbed with them.

"What the-" Cassandra sputtered, drawing her sword, "We must get to the gates!"

If Mahanon was being honest, he really didn't want to do this. He wasn't sure why he followed Cassandra and didn't immediately try to escape during the confusion, but he did. When he glanced around him, he also noticed Iron Bull, Dorian, and Varric following him. He wondered how he even got so far as to have three people trust him to command them.

"-There's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain," Cullen was explaining to Cassandra. His voice was calm, but Mahanon could hear his hesitation.

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked.

"None," Cullen replied, sounding incredulous.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the gate, causing Mahanon to jump back, his back hitting Dorian's chest. Dorian placed his hands on Mahanon's shoulders to steady him.

"Sorry," Mahanon said quickly, his face flushing. He hurriedly stepped away.

Before Dorian could reply, the loud banging on the gate returned. Mahanon didn't jump (as much) this time.

"I can't come in unless you open!" a boy's voice said from beyond the gate. He sounded desperate. Mahanon, against his better judgement, opened the gate just in time to see a man get killed. Lovely.

Standing there, surrounded by dead bodies, was a boy not much older than Mahanon. His hat was too big for him, Mahanon noted.

"I'm Cole," the boy said quickly, "I came to warn you, to help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

"What's going on?" Mahanon asked, willing his voice not to tremble. He felt his companions at his back, steadying him. It made him calmer, somehow.

"The templars have come to kill you," Cole began.

"Templars?" Cullen cut in suddenly, making both Mahanon and Cole flinch, "This is how they respond? Attacking blindly?"

"The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him?" Cole asked, his voice unsettling, "He knows you. You took his mages. There," Cole pointed dramatically at the top of one of the mountains.

There stood a scary looking man, his face looking like some sort of rock was growing out of it, snarling. Mahanon felt his mouth go dry and his knees begin to quake at the thought of fighting that man.

Cullen quickly gave Mahanon a battle plan and left, shouting something about mages. Mahanon didn't think he could pull it off. He looked back at his companions, all of which were staring back at him with nothing but blind faith in their eyes. Mahanon couldn't help but think they'd regret that.  
As they fought, Mahanon fired the basilicas, taking turns with Dorian, switching between cranking the lever and fighting off the templars. It was fairly effective for something Mahanon thought up on the spot.

As he aimed the last one and fired, he began to relax. The snow from the mountains fell, effectively getting rid of templars. Mahanon breathed. He knew in his gut that this victory was short lived, but he breathed.

Then, as expected, a ball of fire hit the basilica. He knew something would go wrong. He just didn't know that something would be this... big.

"Oh, that's just messed up!" Iron Bull growled as a _huge fucking dragon_ passed overhead. Yeah, messed up was an understatement.

"Everyone to the gates!" Mahanon yelled. These people trusted him. He would not let them die. Not again.

On their ways back to the Chantry, Mahanon tried to save as many people as he could. He really did. He just couldn't save them all. The man who died from the explosives. The woman who was crushed to death. He tried to erase those images from his mind as he made sure everyone got into the Chantry safe before going in himself.

"Herald!" Cullen yelled. Even given the situation, Mahanon cringed at the name.

"Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

Cullen and Cole spoke back and forth, spewing some nonsense about archdemons. Mahanon's head was still pounding.

"He doesn't care about the village," Cole said matter of factly, "He only wants the Herald."

Mahanon froze, looking over at Cole. He was careful to mask his emotions here. If that big scary man would leave everyone alone, in exchange for him...

Well, Mahanon wasn't worth much in the first place, was he?

"He wants to kill you," Cole continued as though Mahanon had answered, "But he will kill them, too, crush them anyway. I don't like him."

Mahanon didn't interject when the dying Chancellor was speaking, didn't interject much when Cullen formulated yet another plan. He wasn't cut out for this stuff, not could keep the Elder One's attention if it would save an entire village, or what was left of it.

"We need to be noticed?" Dorian asked once they got outside. Mahanon could practically hear his smirk, "Happens to be a specialty of mine."

Despite himself, Mahanon smiled.

a/n: Divergence from the plot or something similar will happen once we get skyhold just bear with me


	4. Chapter 4

They fought. They aimed trebuchet after trebuchet, all of them nervously looking up at the sky. The templars were not right, with red, glowing rock groing out of them. Mahanon knew this wasn't going to fucking end well.

It got worse when one of the templars suddenly became a huge, red demon.

"What _is_ that?!" Mahanon couldn't hold back his surprise as he dodged an incoming attack. A huge, hammer shaped hand hit the ground loudly where Mahanon had just been.

Mahanon skirted to the side, checking the area. There was no way someone like him could be much help in a fight against a huge, armored beast like that. Mahanon instead directed everyone else to the beast, as he took care of the small fry with quick stabs to the back. He knew it was cowardly but hey, at least they wold all live this way.

As the huge red abomination finally fell, Mahanon rushed to finish aiming the trebuchet. It took longer than he wanted, but surprisingly no one attacked him while he was doing it.

And then the dragon showed up.

"Move," Mahanon ordered quietly, his voice quivering. Then, louder, "Now!"

His companions began to run, Mahanon following close behind. Mahanon made sure to stay in the back, positive that everyone was going to make it out of there. Mahanon stumbled. His companions didn't notice, and kept running. He didn't call out. At least they would be safe.

A blast from the dragon's fire made him fall over completely, rolling on the ground roughly. He curled in on himself and coughed. His ears were so cold. He pushed himself up, his arms shaking with the effort. He really was scared out of his fucking mind. But, at least his friends were safe.

That huge, scary man was making his way toward him. Mahanon felt his stomach lurch and his entire body began to shake. He felt like he was going to throw up. And yet, he stood.

The dragon landed behind him, making Mahanon lose his footing and stumble again. Now he had no way to escape. He was absolutely fucked. The dragon took a step toward him. Mahanon hurried back, his heart feeling like it was going to explode. The beast roared into the sky, the sound deafening.

"Enough," the man, the Elder One, snarled, "Pretender. You toy with forced beyond your ken. No more."

Mahanon had a hand to his dagger, shaking so hard he knew the Elder One could see it.

"W-what are you?" Mahanon's voice shook, his lips trembling, "Why are you doing this?"

"Mortals beg for truth they cannot have," the man's voice was impossibly deep, "It is beyond what you are. What I was. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus. You will kneel."

Mahanon didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to kneel. Maybe if he did, this man wouldn't hurt him. He wondered if his friends made it out. He hoped they did.

"What do you want?" Mahanon forced out, a hand still on his dagger.

"I am here for the anchor," Corypheus growled. He was holding an orb, one that began to glow. "The process of removing it begins now."

Corypheus thrust his hand out, glowing red. Mahanon's mark began to glow too. Mahanon was beginning to panic.

"You interrupted a ritual years in planning, and instead of dying, you stole it's purpose," Corypheus flicked his wrist and pain shot up Mahanon's arm, "I do not know how you survived. But, what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens."

Corypheus moved his hand again. This time, blinding pain flared in his hand, spiking up his arm. Mahanon collapsed, muffling his cries of pain. He could feel sweat rolling down his forehead.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was where he would die, terrified and alone, by the hands of some evil mastermind.

"And you you used the anchor to undo my work," Corypheus glowered down at Mahanon.

"Just-" Mahanon forced the words out, twisted in pain, tears threatening to spill, "Just take the damn mark! I never wanted it anyways! Just fucking- just take it!"

Without saying anything, Corypheus stalked toward him, grabbing his wrist and lifting him up, his feet dangling. Mahanon felt his shoulder pop and grunted in pain. A few tears fell out of his eyes.

"I once breached the fade in the name of another, to serve the old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused, but no more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the Gods. And it was empty." With that, Corypheus threw Mahanon at the trebuchet.

He felt his stomach drop for a moment, then pain as he struck the hard wood. He hit the ground with a hard thud.

"The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling."

Mahanon struggled for breath. One of his daggers was on the ground next to him, gleaming in the light from the fire. Mahanon crawled over to it, grabbed it, and forced himself to stand, no matter how many parts of his body were screaming for him to just lie down and sleep.

"So be it," Corypheus said, the dragon wailing behind him, "We will begin again, find another way to make this world the nation and God it requires."

Mahanon looked past Corypheus, at the flare flying in the sky. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. They had made it.

"I will not suffer even an unknowing rival," Corypheus continued, "You must die."

Mahanon took a deep breath, seeking out something, anything that could help him live through this. Or at least so that Corypheus wouldn't. Then, he saw it.

"Fuck you," Mahanon said simply before kicking the trebuchet handle with all of his strength. He watched as the stone went flying, and struck true. Snow came crashing down, and with the last of his energy, Mahanon ran.

Mahanon woke slowly, every single part of his body aching and screaming. He forced himself to stand. He was alive, that was something. He was in a cave. A dark, cold cave. His thin armor wasn't doing much to keep him warm. He forced himself to walk forward, one step at a time. As he walked, he encountered some demons. In a daze, he thrust his hand up, opening a small rift and instantly killing the demons.

"Well that's new," he mumbled to himself, staring blankly at his hand. All feeling in his body was starting to leave him. He walked forward. Soon he had left the cave. It was even colder outside. He almost wanted to just lay down in the soft snow and sleep. But something stopped him. Something orange and glowing. A fire.

Hope began to bud in his chest as he made his way forward, forcing each and every step. He followed the trail left behind by the Inquisition, growing more and more tired with each step. He let out a shuttering breath. After what seemed like forever, he heard voices.

"There! It's him!"

"Thank the Maker!"

Mahanon fell to his knees, eyes closing. He was safe.

 _Mahanon was running. The hallways were an endless hue of red. He was alone, his breaths coming out in loud puffs, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Dead templars lie everywhere. Mahanon was careful not to trip on one._

 _He looked around desperately, searching for anybody that might be alive anyone he knew. A voice began to ring out in the halls._

 _"Andraste guide me, Andraste guide me..." The voice was eerie and echoing, making Mahanon even more nervous. There were endless halls of red lyrium and dead bodies, none of them faces Mahanon knew._

 _He reached a corridor. He kept searching the bodies, dreading the fact that one of them might be his friend, when- He froze. On the ground, in a pile, was the entire Inquisition. Dorian, his head bashed in, Iron Bull, a spear in his back, Varric, arrows jutting out of his body, Cassandra, Solas, Blackwall... Mahanon was about to throw up. There they all lay, dead. Who could do this? Who would-_

 _"You know you can't stop me," a familiar voice rang out in the hall. Mahanon turned slowly, face to face with the man he had just fought with._

 _"You know you can't win," Corypheus continued._

 _"That's not true!" Mahanon shouted._

 _"You can't beat me," Corypheus leaned over, "I will kill everyone you love to get to you."_

 _"Stop, stop-"_

"Lavellan!" Mahanon startled awake. He was in a cot, his head pounding, all of his muscles aching. Mother Giselle was peering down at him, a concerned look on her face.

Mahanon sat up. Everyone was safe. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were arguing. Mahanon searched the camp until he was satisfied that everyone was there.

"You need rest," Mother Giselle insisted. Mahanon turned his eyes toward her. She looked tired, with dark bags under her eyes.

"They've been at it for hours," Mahanon said. His head was pounding. Couldn't they stop arguing so he could get some rest? He'd been through a lot.

"They have that luxury thanks to you," Mother Giselle smiled at him. Mahanon felt himself growing warm despite his internal protests.

"Fighting won't help," Mahanon said tiredly. He sat up completely.

"Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed," Giselle explained, "We saw our defender stand. And fall. And now we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What we must endure? What we, perhaps, have come to believe?"

"I..." Mahanon hesitated, "I believe in elven Gods."

"And so you do."

Mahanon got up. He walked over to a nearby pole, leaning heavily on it. His muscles were still angry at him. His eyes grazed the camp, at his mentors, his companions, the people who believed him to be some fabled Herald of a God he didn't believe in.

Then, Mother Giselle began singing.

Mahanon's eyes focused on her, walking towards him and singing. He didn't like where this was going. Soon, people joined in, including his mentors. People were staring at him with awe, singing, moving towards him. He was filled with discomfort as more and more people joined in and moved in closer, and finally began kneeling. It wasn't a wholly uncomfortable experience, however. It filled his chest with something, something strong. Not just discomfort, but also determination.

"It's all one world, Herald," Giselle said, "All that changes is our place in it."

And boy did Mahanon's place change.

"A word," Solas said from behind him. Mahanon forced himself not to jump, and followed.

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. The faith is hard won, _lethallan_. Worthy of pride. Save one detail," Solas began by lighting a torch with magic. How mages did that, Mahanon would never know.

"The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It's ours," Solas said seriously, "Corypheus used the orb to open the breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave."

Mahanon wondered idly how Solas knew this, but knew better than to question him.

"We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for their reaction, once they find out the orb is of our people.

"They would find a way to blame us eventually," Mahanon replied bitterly.

"That they would," Solas agreed, "You will need every advantage. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build... grow..."

"Skyhold."

a/n: Please tell me what you think!


End file.
